All I Want for
Christmas

Yep, the capital-H Holidays are upon us once again, that time of year
between Thanksgiving and January 1st when the non-atheists among us pause
to reflect on the teachings of their respective figureheads by stressing
over shopping lists, getting caught in traffic snarls, pushing and shoving
each other in tightly-packed malls, stores and airports. A time to
ruminate on the timeless message of giving -- to our credit card
companies. Hey, it's a commercial holiday (aren't they all?) -- what are
you gonna do?

Try as we might, we here at Shaking Through fall under the thrall of
the Holidays just as much as the next guy (or website, as the case may
be). Stockings have already been hung in the break room here at Shaking
Through World Headquarters, and office conversation inevitably turns to
our Christmas wish lists. Laurence Station plans to ask Santa for a little
more free time in the coming year, the better to devote his attention to
the epic number of albums that pile on his desk and the rigorous demands
of a film reviewer. The Gentleman is crossing his fingers for new husbands
for each of his ex-wives, so that he might free up some alimony cash to
buy more CDs and comics. The beautiful Ashley Pensive wishes they'd put
Ally McBeal back on the air. Our new B-movie columnist Clemenza has
his hopes pinned on the DVD release of a definitive Shannon Tweed
filmography.

In the spirit of the season, then, I thought I'd share with you some of
our less private wishes, things we'd like to see in the entertainment
world in 2003.

Herewith, then, our letter to Santa:

Dear Santa,

We feel we've been good boys and girls this year here at Shaking
Through, and therefore we humbly beg your consideration for the following
items under our tree.

Please ask Jennifer Lopez to stop appearing in film roles for which her
larger-than-life persona makes suspension of disbelief a laughable
impossibility. You can't bombard our senses as jet-setting "J.Lo" and then
expect us to buy you as an abused wife in Enough or as a peasant
hotel maid in Maid in Manhattan. She's long since reached the point
where her public persona overshadows any attempts at street-level
legitimacy (Jenny from the block, indeed), and these attempts at populist
fare are embarrassing. Let her embrace her inner superstar, on screen as
in life, if only so we can enjoy watching her further twist the knife in
the side of a jealous, talent-deficient and increasingly less-relevant
Madonna.

Please deliver us from the lowest-common-denominator culture of the
ever-oxymoronic "reality television" septic tank. What is it about
otherwise sane people that they have to slow down for a peek at the
psychodramatic train wrecks of The Bachelor, American Idol
(Triumph the Insult Comic Dog is right -- that British guy really is
an asshole), The not-so Amazing Race, and of course the
wretched Fear Factor and the unstoppable cockroach that is
Survivor.

Please give Eminem some perspective, so that the critical acclaim for
his music and for the film 8 Mile will quiet his inner demons. Not
enough to rob him of his talent, but at least enough so he doesn't feel
the need to squander it on misogyny (from which he backpedaled a bit this
year) and pointless "feuds" with the likes of poor, innocent Moby or a
freakin' puppet. Talk about paper tigers! Barring that, at least give him
the balls to "feud" with stars his own size -- i.e., hip-hop impresarios
like P. Diddy, Jay-Z and Suge Knight. Let's get down to business, indeed.

Please give me a better grip on deadlines, and the Shaking Through
Production Desk more patience to deal with my lack of same.

Please do what you can to save Leonardo DiCaprio. He used to be a
pretty decent character actor, but then Titanic went and turned him
into a star whose wattage exceeds, and is inappropriate to, his talents.
He's just not cut out for the kind of leading man status that got him cast
in Gangs of New York -- and boy, does that just look horrible
or what? -- and Catch Me If You Can. It's not too late for him to
turn away from the self-parody of a Brando or (alas, it's coming) DeNiro.

Speaking of which, please dispatch some of your "lethal force" elves to
nip Billy Crystal in the bud. No one wants another Analyze This
sequel. Heck, no one wanted the one we've already got.

Speaking of mob stories, please sprinkle a little fairy dust on David
Chase, the guiding force behind The Sopranos. Better yet, buy him a
couple of books on storytelling, so next season won't follow the same
frustrating qualitative ups and downs as the last two. Lay the groundwork
for a compelling story, and keep building toward it with imagination and
suspense. Don't turn everything into an insufferable anti-climax. (Good
job on that season finale, though -- that separation from Carmella was
easily more powerful than the death of Ralphie).

Please sprinkle some of that same fairy dust on some of the
entertainers, creators and properties whom we feel to have stumbled this
past year: Frank Miller, James Bond, Michael Moore, Steven Soderbergh,
Dave Pirner, Peter Gabriel, Pearl Jam, U2, Johnny Cash, Kurt Busiek, Brian
Michael Bendis -- and did we already mention Frank Miller?

Lastly, but not least, please grant our little entertainment-themed
enterprise continued success, and maybe some new readers and contributors
as well. Give our readers, friends, loved ones -- heck, even people we
don't like -- a little bit of happiness in the coming year. Give our
leaders the strength to spare us from war. And please, as much as is
humanly possible, deliver peace on Earth and good will toward men.

That's it, Santa. Just do what you can, of course. I'll leave a Pizza
Hut Pepperoni Lovers' pizza and a fifth of black label Jim Beam for you
under the non-working fireplace, as always. Have a safe trip this year,
and mad props to Prancer and Blitzen -- y'all my boys, ya' heah?